Goodbye to all that

DRUNKEN holidays in Spain with your mates; The Fast Show; Spangles; Denver the Last Dinosaur; those John Smith’s ads with Peter Kay – all good things must come to an end.

And add to that list the Bears’ club record winning run.
After six wins on the trot, surely No 7 was a formality against Somerset. They got tonked at Scunthorpe didn’t they? A place where we nearly won with half a team.
Heck, I even had the Gazette subs desk primed and ready to open that top drawer and bring out tried and trusted gems like “Seven up for Bears” and “Seventh heaven” to headline the match report. Not for the first time, I was a bit premature.
The old orchard botherers gave us a lesson in gating, showed a liking for the track and had the bit between their teeth from the word go.
A decent crowd, a lovely warm evening and a team on the crest of a wave. Blimey, it couldn’t have been better if Louisa Lytton replaced Gareth on the centre green mic.
But along came the Rebels and peed on on our porridge.
Glyn Taylor spoke afterwards of dummy-spitting and comfort zones. He told me that, and I’m sure he told the riders that in a rather more forthright fashion.
So what do we make of it? My reading of the situation is that we lost a match we had the capabilities of winning, albeit not without putting up a fight.
The fact that we lost doesn’t make us a bad side. It simply reminds us that this is a damn tough league and that there are plenty of sides able to take points of each other. Good riders don’t become bad ones in the space of five days.
If I were in the Stoke camp, I might just be a little concerned at being on the end of the backlash. Now where’s that Fast Show DVD. . .?